


Soldier's Sleep

by ElectricRaven99



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Bromance, Fluff, Tom Blake Needs A Hug, William Schofield Needs a Hug, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricRaven99/pseuds/ElectricRaven99
Summary: One of the many talents of William Schofield? Falling asleep anywhere. Enter Tom Blake, who just won't. Stop. Talking.Aka: how Will and Tom manage to fall asleep during the war, even though Tom seems like he could go days without it and Will has to make sure Tom doesn't do something stupid.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield
Comments: 35
Kudos: 39





	1. Soldier's Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the movie, but that's all the time frame I really have for this. Hope you enjoy!

One of the many talents of Lance Corporal William Schofield? Falling asleep anywhere. Dark woods? Been there. Muddy, cold trenches? Done that too many times to count. Soldiers developed this habit, he noticed, because sleep meant safety. You could drop your guard and just rest; a rarity in war. But finding that safe spot to sleep was more difficult as the war went on. 

Will was sitting in a circle with some of the men from his battalion in a field behind the trench, talking, eating, cleaning their weapons. Something to keep busy while they waited. They had heard of new recruits coming in to fill in the gaps, which had many of the men on edge. Trust was a hard-earned thing nowadays, and the naivety of the new men came with the fact that the man next to you might not be able to watch your back like you watched theirs. Not on purpose, not to be mean. They just... didn’t have the experience.

Sergeant Sanders could be seen in the distance with the new recruits, and already some of the other men Will was sitting with were taking bets. Who’ll be the first to cry, the last to talk, on and on. It might have been a tad cruel, but it was something to take the edge off of meeting the new men. It acknowledged their inexperience with teasing and prodding and betting, which was how it was in war. Tough love.

“Men!” Sergeant Sanders returned their saluts and nodded at them, allowing them to relax. “We’ve got 5 new Lance Corporals joining us.” He turned to the men lined up behind him, and they all straightened, fingers fidgeting on their uniform or clearing their throats. “Step forward, state your name, then fall back in line.”

Will watched them with some amusement as the men did as the Sergeant asked. _Poor blokes are so nervous now facing us, wonder what they’ll do when they have to face the Germans._ He didn’t dwell too deeply on it, though. In the beginning he had sometimes gotten close with new recruits, but to see them cut down by a machine gun, or blown to bits by a shell- now he just kept to himself. It didn’t hurt as much. Besides, the other men were usually friendly enough that no one really came to Schofield- and he was fine with that.

Sergeant Sanders left, and the 5 men lined up glanced awkwardly around, then looked for places around the circle, or just sat where they were. Will kept his head down, hoping to remain unnoticed. 

“Hullo, mate. Spot taken?”

Inwardly, he groaned. _Shit._ There went his plan. He looked up at the man and gave a short nod, going back to cleaning his gun.

With a grunt the younger man sat down and rubbed his pale hands together. “I’m Blake. Tom Blake, if you didn’t catch that earlier. You?”

“Will Schofield.” Hoping to end the conversation, Will kept his gaze on his gun. New men were like puppies, he supposed. Throw a bone and they’d never leave your side. 

“Nice to meet you. You can just call me Blake if you want, I’m used to it by now. Too many Toms in this bloody division.” The soldier settled in, leaning against the log Will was sitting on.

Will glanced at him briefly. Dressed in the standard British uniform, a steel helmet covering his dark hair, he looked like a thousand other soldiers. But when Tom looked his way, smirking and tipping his helmet in mock greeting, Will shook his head and a small grin came on his face despite himself.

“Ah! So he can feel joy! Reminds me of Mr. Findley, he was this right old grump I lived near. Had the best trees to climb, though, so one day I decided to see how far up I could get. Mind you, Joe- my older brother- told me that I shouldn’t, but I did anyway. As I’m climbing up the tree I hear a door slam, and I know it’s Mr. Findley because he was always grumbling under his breath.” Tom paused for a beat, then carried on.

“Anyways, so I’m still hiding up in the tree, holding my breath, and he walks right under me!” Tom had a huge grin on his face, gesturing with his hands while he told the story. “I swear he stood there muttering and grumbling forever, and then a part of the branch my foot is resting on cracks, and falls right in front of his face, knocking off his glasses! So of course he glances up, even more pissed off now, but since his glasses were broke he couldn’t see me! He leaves, and I climb down and sprint home with Joe. Joe scolded me the whole way back, but how was that my fault? Mr. Findley didn’t even get hurt, and his glasses got replaced the next day. Something about his nephew being an eye doctor.” Tom chuckled and shifted against the log, trying to get comfortable in the grassy area. He glanced up at Will. “You got any stories?”

Will debated with himself internally. Of course he has loads about his daughter, but he doubted Tom would want to hear about her. Maybe about that one time with the dog- _What am I doing? I can’t get attached to Tom now._ But something about him made Will want to share a story as well. Wiping down the gun barrel, he shrugged. “Can’t think of any now, none that are like yours.”

“Oh. That’s alright, mate. Maybe next time, yeah?” Tom’s cheery mood seemed to dampen a bit, and Will felt a twinge of guilt.  
_Why am I feeling guilty? Don’t I want to be left alone?_ Despite his thoughts, Will heard himself saying: “Yeah. Next time,” Offering Tom a nod, whose face brightened instantly. _Not likely that there’ll be a next time, but… who knows._


	2. Transports

The lorry bumped and rattled along, soldiers crammed in the back like sardines in a tin can. Will and Tom sat next to each other, Tom talking with other men while Will rested his eyes, though it was hard to fall asleep, even for him. As they moved along the dirt road the bumps would jostle the men, and one time they nearly lost Sam Hunting off the back from a particularly nasty jolt. 

The 8th had been traveling for a couple hours now, and when the talk turned from football and girls to food, he knew it had to be close to supper time. Or what was called “supper” when in a transport. 

The vehicles ground to a halt and Will opened his eyes, glancing around at the other men. Just when Hunting was about to peer around the side to see what the matter was, a small messenger darted in front of the opening in the back.

“There’s an aid station that we’ve come across, so Colonel Travis said we’ll stop to replenish their supplies, and eat dinner as well. I’ve heard it’ll be hot, too. Maybe we’ll find some brandy, eh?” And with a short nod he was off, jogging to the next lorry in the line. 

“Hear that, Scho? Actual hot food tonight!” Tom nudged him with a grin, and turned to follow the other men off the lorry.

“I’ll be sure to give the chef my compliments,” Will said in turn, and hopped to the ground with a thud. 

Dust rose up from the dirt road, and when he looked around the only things that surrounded them were fields of grass waving in the slight breeze. The aid station was the only building in sight, with numbers of tents secured against the wind, some filled with beds and stretchers, others with pots of food cooking inside. A flattened dirt path led to the main tent, and Will hummed appreciatively. _Seems pretty isolated; an actual spot to eat for once._

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The dinner was indeed hot, and in addition to beans and tea served, some bread and jam were provided. The men ate ravenously, and when the plates and cups were licked clean a feeling of contentment settled in Will. 

“Haven’t eaten like that since mum’s cooking!” said O'Brian, one of Will’s closer friends in the group.

“Wonder what she fed you, buttered bread and a slice of meat?” Hunting quipped. Then he yelped when O'Brian shoved him off his log, toppling backwards.

Their group burst into laughter, and Will shook his head with amusement as he laughed, savoring the moment.

Tom, sitting next to Will, was doubled over in laughter, but still managed to get out: “Haven’t seen O'Brian that upset since he lost a tenner to Mack!”

“Oi! I’ll have you know that I was cheated on that bet,” O'Brian said indignantly, his red hair gleaming in the lamplight from the tents. Still the group kept laughing hard, and soon he sighed good-naturedly, admitting defeat with a grin.

“Blake!” Hunting said, now seated on the log again next to O'Brian. “You got any stories about sore losers?” He ducked O'Brian’s swat at his head with a smirk.

Tom placed his head on his chin, and nodded his head. “Yes,” he said in mock-seriousness, “I just might...”

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Far too soon they trudged back to the transport, sitting on the rough wooden benches and leaning against the canvas cover. A crescent moon lit up part of the night, and Will watched as moving shadows crossed over the other men sitting in the truck. Some were reading or writing letters by the moonlight, others were talking quietly. Most were asleep, full from a hot meal and tired from the day’s travels. 

When he looked to his left, he saw Tom’s head dropped onto his chest, eyes closed. His helmet was by his feet, and his hands held a crumpled letter.

“Blake,” he whispered. Nothing. He tried again: “Tom?” 

The only sound Will got in return was the deep breaths that meant Tom was out, and not going to wake up soon.

_I guess he really is asleep. Probably knackered from supper and telling all those stories._ A small smile came on Will's face. Whenever Tom was asleep he always looked so much younger than he was, and so much more peaceful. While there hadn’t been much battle, Will dreaded the day when Tom wasn’t trying to cheer up the group with an annoying, but endearing, story. He closed his eyes, and tried to get some rest himself, leaning his head against the side of the lorry.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Sometime later, he felt a weight drop onto his shoulder, and startled awake. Quickly glancing around Will saw that most of the men were asleep, or at least dozing. Still unsure about if he had actually felt something, Will went to close his eyes until he saw O'Brian staring at him. 

O'Brian, one of the few soldiers awake, smirked and pointed at Will, mouthing: “Softened you up, huh?”

Will furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?” he mouthed back.

O'Brian simply pointed again, this time with a gentler smile, and popped his helmet back over his head, leaning back against the cloth.

Will glanced down at his left, and his eyes widened. Tom had slumped over, resting his head against Will’s shoulder. He could feel Tom’s chest rising and falling, and warmth from where Tom’s shoulder was pressed into his side. 

Why Will? He had never understood what had drawn Tom to him in the first place, but somehow this felt right. Like he and Tom were fated to be friends, and to look out for each other. Something changed inside him at that moment. _He trusts me, and I trust him._ The realization was nice, and comforting to know. Will felt his eyes blink slowly and he stifled a yawn, not wanting to wake up Tom. Before he knew it, his head leaned back and he fell asleep to the movement of the truck, content knowing Tom was by his side.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Finn O'Brian jolted awake, the shell still ringing in his ears. You’d think he’d get used to it, but it wasn’t the rattling of the machine guns or the pop-pop-pop of guns going off that haunted him in the night. It was the _boom_ of the shell exploding, raining dirt on his helmet with a noise like rain. He’d never had to worry about the sky attacking him, and he worried that when he would finally get home he’d just sit and watch the sky; waiting, wondering. 

__

His helmet slid off his head into his waiting hands, a practiced move, and he relaxed when he realized it was still night, the lorry chugging along. Most men were all asleep, except one or two gazing at nothing in particular, lost in their own thoughts. It was when he glanced over where Schofield and Blake were sitting did a grin break out on his face.

__

While Blake had slumped over Schofield’s shoulder earlier in the night, now Schofield’s head leaned on top of Blake’s as well, both men fast asleep.

__

Finn had been at the Somme as well, and he had seen after the battle how Schofield just kept to himself, not bothering with the new recruits. They all had lost good friends that day, too many to count, so Finn figured the man was just taking some time to himself, which there was nothing wrong with. Finn just knew that Schofield longed for close friends, ones he could joke with and feel at ease with, and he just hoped that one recruit could bring the old Schofield back. 

__

Then Lance Corporal Blake had plopped down right next to Schofield and, to the delight of Finn, prattled on and on seemingly oblivious to Schofield’s resolution to not make new attachments. Over time, Finn could see Blake wearing down Schofield's withdrawn attitude: Schofield smiling more at stories, pitching in a few of his own (who knew Schofield had actually gotten drunk before??) and joking back with their group with his own dry humor that complimented Blake’s rowdy banter so well. 

__

Even if Schofield couldn’t see it himself, the man cared for the new lance corporal deeply. For Pete’s sake, the man had nearly ripped a new one into Blake for almost forgetting his helmet one day! Blake had muttered something cheeky in response to the lecture, then Schofield rolled his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder, handing him the helmet from behind his back. Blake’s mouth had dropped open, and Finn remembered their group had started laughing so hard Sarge had to come to see what was going on. Schofield had a grin on his face for the rest of the day.

__

Now, seeing his head resting on Blake’s, Finn was glad the two men had found a friendship in this war; it did them both good.

__

Placing his helmet back over his eyes, Finn got one last look at the two blokes. Blake was completely limp against Schofield, who looked more at peace than Finn had ever seen him. When Blake let out a breath of contentment a small smile flitted onto Schofield’s face, though it was gone as quick as it had come. 

__

Finn smiled behind his helmet before he, too, slipped back into his own dreams.

__


	3. A Soldier In Battle

“Blake! No!” 

“Mate, he’s too far! You won’t survive!”

“TOM!”

Will’s scream was the hardest to push away. But Tom stuffed their worry deep inside him, and used it to scramble faster over the dirt and fallen trees to where Sam Hunting lay bleeding, pressed against a huge overturned tree. 

A _zing!_ brushed past his ear, and Tom dove behind a mound of dirt, flattening himself against the cold earth. His hand pushed his steel helmet against his head as gunshots whipped past him. Sam was directly to his left, clutching his leg with blood-stained hands, lips pressed tightly together to hold in screams. Tom brought his knees up under his chest and shifted into a crouch. _On three. A straight shot. Wait for them to cover me. Sprint._ He chanced a glance back at where the rest of the battalion was, hoping to see someone who could help him. _Just don’t let it be Will,_ he pleaded internally, though he didn’t even know why. 

The battalion had managed to find cover in what looked like an old riverbed, dried up and full of weeds and long grass; now they were firing at the German supply truck about a 100 meters away.

Tom saw O’Brian fire his gun and glance at him, then Sam, then back at Tom. He nodded, though he had a grimace on his face, and turned to yell at the rest of their group, nodding in Tom and Sam’s direction. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._ “COVER!!” a voice yelled.

Tom sprinted as fast as he could, and threw himself on the ground next to Sam. 

“You wanker. Bloody idiot,” Sam gritted out through his teeth.

“Ah, sorry, did I interrupt something?” Tom fumbled with the field gauze he pulled out. Why were his hands shaking? “My bad. I’ll bring the fine china next time and we’ll invite the queen, eh?” He wrapped it around Sam’s thigh and tied it off tightly, ignoring Sam’s muffled screams and the bullets zipping past. “Don’t worry, she’ll bring the food, and-

“We’re trapped here. I’m going to die, and if you don’t leave now then you’re going to die too.” Sam stared at Tom, eyes sharp even though he still shook from pain. “So just go, alright. Tell Sarge to tell my mum-” he swallowed “-tell her that I love her.”

The silence between the two men was deafening, even though war raged around them.

“Are you bloody insane?” Tom shook his head. “Sorry mate you’re stuck with me, even if you do hate my brilliant jokes.” He looked around at the woods around them. Grass, dirt, trees- there! 

An old rock, so covered with moss Tom nearly missed it, sheltered a small overhang that looked just big enough for the both of them. Maybe years ago the overhang might have been filled with dirt, but when a tree had fallen it pulled up roots that had grown beneath the rock, bringing the dirt along with it. Then erosion had done its job. Now all Tom had to do was get himself and Sam there, with Germans shooting at them. At this moment. _Easy. Just don’t die, right?_

Tom turned back to Sam and spoke quickly. “Ok, look, see that rock over there?” 

“I’m not going to-”

“Just do it!”

Sam looked, and begrudgingly nodded. “I still-”

“Sam.” Tom stared at the injured man with what he hoped was his most serious expression. “Do. You. Trust. Me.”

A nod.

“There’s an overhang beneath it that should fit both of us, and it looks like we’ll have a clear shot from there to drop down into the dried riverbed. If we time it right, I think I see a path to get there. But you have to go when I say, otherwise we’re both dead. Hear me?”

Sam swallowed, and for the first time Tom could see how scared he was. He looked up at Tom. “I trust you.”

“Ok.” Tom took a breath, running through his plan again in his head. _Ha. If this thing’s an actual plan, then Joe really did snog Lucie Sunders behind the old mill last summer._ “I’ll try and signal to the guys to cover us. We’re just going to that small ditch there. ‘Bout 2 meters. Ready?”

Sam hissed as he slung an arm over Tom and crouched as best he could. “As I’ll ever be.”

Tom braved another look back at their battalion. O’Brian was easy to spot, and Tom pointedly glanced at the ditch then back at the redhead, mouthing “On three”. The experienced soldier nodded, and turned to spread the message, Tom hoped.

One. _Zing!_

Two. _Crack!_

Three. “COVER!!”

Sam and Tom moved, Tom supporting Sam’s weight as both stumbled to the ditch. When they had nearly reached it Sam stepped with his bad leg and yelled, causing both men to fall hard to the ground. They rolled head over heels into the ditch, and Tom inhaled sharply as he felt a sharp burn on his arm, ignoring it as he quickly pushed his back against the earth wall, keeping his head low. 

Sam had sprawled out in the center of the ditch with dust and dirt smudged on his face, dirtying his blond hair. He flipped over onto his back with a groan, and scooted back toward Tom until his back was flush against the dirt as well. 

Between huffs Tom muttered, “That went well.”

Sam’s chest heaved with exertion and he didn’t respond, instead clutching at his leg, squeezing his eyes shut.

Tom focused on staring at O’Brian once more. He seemed to be tracking their movement, popping up in the right spot at the right time. Tom glanced at the rock, then back at the man. O’Brian’s eyes widened in realization. He turned back to the men beside him, and held up three fingers before aiming his gun and firing shots at the Germans, ducking back down. 

Tom nudged Sam.

Sam looked at him, then realization dawned in his eyes. His face filled with grim determination, and he moved to sling an arm around Tom, both men getting ready to run for their lives, again. _Ok, on three. Last time,_ Tom thought.

One. 

Two.

Three. “COVER!!” _Go!_

Tom was nearly dragging Sam, and the burning in his arm was growing more painful by the second, but he ignored it and kept moving. Five steps. Four. Three. Sam seemed to get heavier, but still Tom pushed to keep moving. Two. One. 

Tom nearly shoved Sam behind the rock and scrambled in after him. Both men were breathing hard as they relaxed ever so slightly in the shelter of the overhang.

“You know,” Sam said between breaths, “you’re bloody crazy. Don’t think-” another breath “-I don’t think any other chap could’ve convinced me to do that.”

Tom chuckled then lifted his gun, checking it to make sure it wasn’t jammed from the dirt. As he moved to aim it at the open forest, he inhaled sharply as his left arm twinged again. He glanced down and was surprised to see a rip in his uniform that stretched the width of his arm, about as long as his middle finger. _Must have cut it on a rock or a tree root when we had that spill back at the first ditch._ It was seeping blood, but seemed to have stopped enough for Tom to not use his limited field gauze, so he ignored it even though Will’s exasperated voice scolded him inside his head: _Tom, don’t be a bloody idiot, wrap it!_

The two men sat there for what seemed to be hours. Tom reasoned with himself that there were only two ways this could go: the Germans guarding the supply truck were defeated, or their battalion was overrun. And Tom couldn’t risk poking his head out to see what was going on without exposing them. He could only hope O’Brian would come with some men so they could get back to their group, and that the Germans wouldn’t come first. 

A sharp whistle caused Sam and Tom’s heads to snap up, tensed for a fight. Both men craned their necks to see where, and who, it came from. 

“Psst.” Sam nudged Tom, and pointed with a bloody hand at a thick grouping of bushes, about three meters south of where they were. “See the red?”

Tom nearly started giggling, delirious with relief. O’Brian had come for them! And of all the ways they could have spotted him, it was because of his red hair. Then he cleared his throat and gave a sharp whistle back.

The bushes rustled, and two tin helmets were seen visible, then guns drawn and ready. O’Brian appeared and moved toward them, the other man staying back to keep watch. Tom tilted his head. _Kinda looks like-_

“ ‘Course. Outta everyone here, only Hunting could’a survived a shot to the leg and moved like that, and only Blake would be damned lucky enough to find a spot like this.” Despite his exasperated tone O’Brian had a relieved smile on his face. “Hunting, I’ll help you with your leg, Blake, you can help cover us with Schofield.”

Tom stiffened. _Shit._

O’Brian seemed to be watching his reaction, and while extending a hand to Sam he muttered to Tom, “He’s been right worried ‘bout you two. Especially when you decided to play hero and sprinted to help Hunting.”

Tom nodded in acknowledgement. 

Gripping his gun and aiming it at the trees around them, Tom moved toward Scho while O’Brian helped Sam move to the brush. Backing up as he went, Tom focused on watching for Germans. When he glanced back at Scho, the man simply looked at him and nodded, face blank. Both of their rifles were pointed at their surroundings, ready to be fired.

The four men remained unseen, thanks to the sloping hill the overhang jutted over. The shooting was winding down, and Tom thought it sounded like the German guards had been taken care of, since he heard no gunfire behind him. They dropped into the dry creek bed and started a slow walk to their battalion; quiet except for the sound of their boots against the stony riverbed and Sam’s labored breathing. Tom watched and listened for any sign of the Germans, but when he caught sight of their battalion it became clear that they had won the small fight.

The group saw the four men coming back, and a cheer rose up. Greetings were shouted, as well as directions to the makeshift Aid Post set up haphazardly. O’Brian and Sam veered off to have Sam’s leg looked at, but not before O’Brian gave Will a pointed look, to which Will sighed and stared right back at him. 

Then Tom and Will were alone. Silence filled the air between them, and Tom fidgeted with the strap of his gun across his chest.

Will took a breath, and his voice was quiet. “Why the hell did you do that Tom.”

Not a question, a statement. Tom’s arm started to burn again, and he swallowed at Will’s coldness. “Sam was hurt, so I had to-”

“You could have died.” Will’s voice was hard, anger starting to seep through the cold tone. “You went without a second though. Didn’t stop to think, didn’t look around, didn’t say anything.”

With every word Tom felt smaller and smaller.

“Don’t you understand how fucking stupid that was!” Will shouted, running his hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes stared accusingly at Tom. “How stupid YOU were?”

At that, Tom snapped. “I WASN’T BEING FUCKING STUPID! I SAVED HIM, WILL! HE’S MY FRIEND, AND IF I COULD DO SOMETHING THEN GOD HELP ME, I WAS GOING TO GO SAVE HIM!” He laughed humorlessly at their situation, shaking his head. His arm throbbed. “I know I haven’t got as much experience as you do on the front, and hell, this probably wasn’t even bloody close to it. But I saw a chance to help a friend, and I’m not just going to sit in a ditch counting my blessings saying, ‘Glad that’s not me.’ 

“Because you know what? One day, it might be!” Tom took a breath, feeling angry tears come to his eyes. _Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he trust me?_ “And I wasn’t being stupid. I only moved when I had cover, I planned out a route, and I had seen Sam get hit so I knew that he could survive if he kept pressure on it! I’m NOT stupid!”

Will had gone quiet, his face showing surprise at Tom’s outburst. He swallowed, and said, “Tom- “

“No.” Tom cut him off. “I’m done. You can-” He started to swipe at his eyes to wipe away the brimming tears, but a strangled gasp came out. The burning in his arm had turned into a hot knife cutting his skin, and it _hurt_. He clapped his hand over the cut and squeezed his eyes shut, bending over.

“Tom? Are you ok?” Will’s tone was worried, and when Tom looked up at him Will was hesitantly stepping closer, as if Tom was a scared pup that could bolt at any second. “Is it a bullet wound?”

Tom almost let him see the cut. Will looked so concerned and Tom was so tired that he just wanted to let down his guard and relax. But he couldn’t get Will’s angry stare out of his head, his enraged shouts about _how STUPID Tom was._ So Tom straightened up, ignoring the spikes of pain, and set his jaw in defiance.

Emotions flashed across Will’s face: fear, concern, guilt, acceptance. He gripped the strap of his rifle, knuckles turning white. “I- I’ll just-” His head dropped low, and he moved toward the other end of the camp, away from the Aid Post. 

Tom felt a pang of guilt. Then Will’s anger came back in a flash, so he gritted his teeth and walked over to the Aid Post where Sam was getting patched up by a medic.

“Oi! Tom!” Sam was a lot more cheery considering the doc had managed to stop the bleeding, and also because he was holding a bottle of brandy. “Over here, you crazy bugger!”

Still clutching his arm, Tom made his way over, a small grin coming over his face. Sam was definitely tipsy, and when he tried to get up to hug Tom, the smell of alcohol was definitely noticeable. 

“Sit down, ya tosser. That leg still needs to heal, no matter what that brandy is suggesting,” said O'Brian. He guided Sam back down to the cot, then looked at Tom. “Alright, spill.” 

Tom blinked. “Huh?” He clutched his arm tighter in surprise and winced.

O'Brian’s eyes widened. “Not you too. Please tell me that’s a scratch. This prat,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder back at Sam, “has used up all the medical brandy. Let me get a look.”

Tom was about to protest, but it was too late. With a gentleness Tom didn’t expect, O'Brian removed Tom’s hand from the gash, and let out a low whistle. “The ladies will be fallin’ for ya with this war scar. Gonna be a nice story to tell when you get home, that’s for sure.” 

Tom’s eyes widened. _A scar? From a little cut? Joe’s never going to let me live this one down._

Seeing Tom’s nervous look O'Brian burst out laughing. He walked around to the little table next to Sam’s cot (Sam had somehow fallen asleep clutching the brandy) and grabbed a gauze wrap and the antiseptic bottle the medic had left behind. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist,” he said as he poured some of the contents of the bottle onto the gauze and motioned for Tom to pull his left arm out of his jacket sleeve and move his grey flannel shirt to expose the wound.

Tom complied, and shivered as the cold air cut through the thinner material. “Just make it quick, would you? I’m freezing my arse off.”

O’Brian snorted and leaned closer to examine the cut more, now that Tom’s jacket wasn’t blocking it. “Not too deep, so if you keep it wrapped I’m sure it’ll heal up properly.” He wiped at the cut with the antiseptic-soaked part of the gauze, then wrapped it around Tom’s arm expertly, ignoring Tom’s protests about how _bloody cold that is! And it stings! C’mon O’Brian we’re mates, right?_

The seasoned soldier fastened the gauze with two safety pins. “Alright, alright, it’s done. You can stop grumbling ‘bout the cold now, ya baby.”

Tom rolled his eyes but quickly slipped his arm back inside his jacket, thankful that his cut was taken care of and for the warmth his clothes provided. A thin strip of the white bandage could be seen peeking through the rip on the sleeve, but he could sew that up later tonight.

“Ok, now that that’s taken care of, spill.”

Tom stared quizzically at O’Brian. “What?”

O’Brian rolled his eyes. “I swear, you two blokes are exactly the same,” he grumbled under his breath. Gesturing for Tom to follow him O’Brian walked over to a grassy spot and sat, leaning against the large trunk of a fallen tree.

Tom sat next to him gingerly and leaned back against the rough bark. What was O’Brian talking about? Did he want to know how Tom had gotten cut?

Taking a deep breath, the red-headed soldier leaned his head back against the tree, staring at the sky. The day was cloudy and gray, a slight chill carried in by the breeze.

Tom realized that O’Brian must be the same age as Joe- though O’Brian didn’t look like it. He swallowed, and sent up a prayer to the heavens, hoping his brother was still alright.

Even though he had gotten a letter a couple weeks back, every day was a chance for something to happen.

“I bet Schofield gave you a hard time, huh?”

Tom startled. _How did he know?_

O’Brian must have seen the question in Tom’s eyes, as his mouth twisted into a wistful grin. “Gave me a scolding to rival ma mum’s, once. After the- “ he swallowed, and composed himself. “After the Somme, Will was right pissed at me. I had seen one of my best mates go down, and I thought that if I could get to him, I could save him.” O’Brian sighed, and fiddled with his helmet in his hands. “I couldn’t. Even as I was scrambling to find him, I just felt it, that he was gone. But I had to get to him because I had made him a promise.”

Tom was quiet for a moment. The air seemed heavier around them with the somber mood. “What was his name?”

“Frank. Frank Burge,” O’Brian said. He laughed wetly, and Tom pretended not to see him swiping at his eyes. “Never shut up, always clamoring on about something he’d done in a football game or a prank he pulled on his sibling.” O’Brian smiled sadly.

“He and I started out together in training, and somehow they kept us in the same regiment. Frank was younger than I was, and soon I saw him like a little brother that I never had. He was just as annoying as one, too, always making awful jokes and bugging me to play in these crazy games he invented- ” O’Brian’s voice cut off, and Tom could see that he had choked up thinking about his lost ~~friend~~ brother. 

“So when I saw him go down… I lost my head. Honestly don’t know how I made it out of there alive. Then when it was over, Will comes storming up to me and tears into me about me being a wanker and a right bloody fool.” O’Brian let out a breath. “Didn’t find out until later after I gave him a piece of my own mind that he wasn’t pissed at me at all, not even because I had gone to Frank. He just didn’t want to lose me as well. ”

Tom’s mind whirled. _Could Will just be worried about me? Maybe he doesn’t think I’m an idiot?_ He glanced at O’Brian and twisted his hands together. “D’you think I was an idiot for going after Sam?”

“Well, you can be a pain in my arse, especially then. But!” O’Brian held up a hand to silence Tom’s objections. “Not an idiot. You moved with cover, communicated with me so I could help, and stayed put once you got there. Nah, mate, you’re not an idiot. Bloody crazy, to go after him, but you’re no different than everyone else.” O’Brian glanced at Tom. “He say you’re an idiot?”

Tom nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. It was nice to know that O’Brian believed in him. _And that I’m not an idiot._ Despite still being cross about what Will had said earlier, deep down Tom cared about what Will thought of him. 

O’Brian clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I think you and him need to have a talk.” He slowly got to his feet, dusting off his uniform. “Just remember that Will does care about you, even if you can’t see it,” he said. And with a tip of his helmet he was walking back to the Aid Post.

Tom let out a sigh and stared off into the distance, thinking. He didn’t like being at odds with Will... it was too much work. It would be easier to just walk over to where Will was, holler “Scho!” and act like this whole thing never happened. But he knew that wouldn’t work. He and Will needed to fix this before another battle came, because Will could get- Or Tom could be- Tom shook his head. Best to go now, even if he had no desire to get yelled at again. _Will, I swear if you’ve up and replaced me with some other wanker as your best friend I will start walking back home. To England,_ Tom grumbled as he heaved himself up and set off towards the tents. 

Already the battalion had staked tents for a makeshift camp. The center of it all was where supper was being cooked, and off to one side was the Aid Post where Sam and O’Brian were. Many soldiers had found places to crash, and Tom had to step over quite a few sleeping soldiers as he made his way to the big, boiling vats. It wasn’t originally part of the plan, but Tom was hungry, and maybe he could soften Will up with a little bit of food. The cooks had just started to dish out the food, waving off men who were circling like vultures, ready to eat anything that was served. 

Tom squeezed his way around, and quietly pleaded with one of the cooks to let him grab two meals early. Because, see, the bullet they had to take out really hurt. So it would be just brilliant if you could spare two meals, please? Tom even held his bandaged cut and tried to look as innocent and pleading as possible. 

A couple minutes later Tom was holding two bowls of soup. Carefully he picked his way through the sprawling camp, looking for Will. No one had seen him since Tom had gone to the Aid Post, and now Tom was starting to feel a bit of worry. He knew it was crazy...but he just had to find Will. Before they had to move on, before tomorrow or whatever bloody insane thing they had to do next. 

_Where the hell could he be? Not like this camp is that big,_ Tom thought to himself, frustrated. His hands were starting to get sore from holding their meager soups, and he ached all over from the battle. _If I were Will, where would I go?_ he thought. Tom spun around, brow furrowed in concentration. Too loud over by the mess tent. Definitely not the Aid Post. What was left? Tom knew Will always wanted quiet after a battle, and at least a place to lean against so he had his back up against something. _So that leaves the outskirts over by that hill over there, I guess._ It was as good a place as any.

The sun was starting to set, casting a golden haze over the camp. A couple small stove fires were lit, puffing curling tendrils of smoke up into the evening sky. The chill wind faded for a moment, and it was as if the war had been wiped away for a brief time. The artist whose brush had painted the clouds with colors of lavender and rose and saffron left no room for signs of war, only a gently sloping hill with some tents dotting the grassy setting.

Tom trekked his way toward the outskirts of camp, and soon he saw one tent pitched a bit farther away from the others. As he got closer, he saw a figure lying against the grassy hill, a pack tucked behind their head.

Will had an arm draped over his eyes, presumably to block out the setting sun, the other resting against his lap. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and his helmet was settled next to his feet.

With a groan Tom sat down, his muscles aching in protest. He let out a breath, gazing at the camp spread out before him. It was weird to see all of the soldiers in such a peaceful setting, when just hours ago they had been shooting at hostile Germans. Now card games were being started, letters written, stories exchanged. His gaze landed on Will, sleeping beside him, and he felt a small smile tugging at his lips. It was nice to see Scho relaxed like this, and it put Tom at ease as well. Tom hated to wake him up, because he knew that Will needed the rest. Still, his hands were starting to cramp from holding the hot soups, so he nudged Will’s leg with his foot and whispered, “Scho?”

Will’s eyes shot open and his body tensed, hand stretching out for his helmet. Then he looked and saw Tom. Will slumped back against the hill, running a hand through his hair.

Tom shifted awkwardly. “Er, sorry Scho, didn’t mean to wake you, but... I’ve got food?” Tom’s voice pitched up at the end in a question, and he hated how uncertain he sounded. 

Will blinked, and looked surprised. “Oh. Thanks, Blake.” He leaned forward to grab a bowl from Tom, and settled back against his pack. After a moment of staring at the steam rising from the soup, he said, “Tom, do you have a spoon I could use?”

Tom dug in his pocket, and pulled out two metal spoons he had swiped from the cook’s tent. “Here ya go,” he said, and tossed one over onto Will’s lap.

For a while the only sound was of metal spoons clanking against the ceramic bowls. Then Will set his bowl to the side and took a breath, twisting his hands.

“Look, Tom. I- “ he swallowed. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Tom pressed his mouth together in a thin line. The anger from before rose up, and before he could stop himself he said, “A little late now for an apology, after you yelled at me and called me stupid for saving Hunting’s life.” He stared at the ground, not wanting to see the expression on Will’s face. He blinked hard to try and shove his hurt feelings down.

“No, Tom, it’s- it’s not that.”

Tom let out a bitter laugh. “Really?” He stared at Will, who looked back at him with a miserable expression.

“No, please, Tom. Listen.”

Tom nodded stiffly, but kept stared at the ground. He didn’t want Will to see how much the words he said had hurt. Tom heard Will take a deep breath.

“When you bolted out of the river bed to save Hunting, it was so much like No Man’s Land that as soon as I lost sight of you I thought that you were gone. At the Somme, I saw men peer above the trench for just an instant, and they were shot dead right there. So how could you survive doing that? And “ -a pause. “ I didn’t even want to give myself hope that maybe, _maybe_ , you survived that, because then you had to get to Sam, and then you both had to get out of the line of fire, and then- “ 

Tom heard a shaky inhale, and he slowly raised his head. Will was staring at the ground, eyes rimmed red. His hands were clenched together, knuckles white, and Tom was struck by how much Will cared about him, how much it had hurt him to see Tom put himself in more danger.

“I’ve seen too many good, brave men get killed for trying to do what you did. And I just couldn’t imagine it happening to you, but when you went after Sam, I just-” Will’s voice broke off. He wiped at his eyes fiercely and took a shaky breath.

Tom slowly reached out and placed a steadying hand on Will’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Will. I forgive you.”

Will shook his head, and covered his face with a hand. “You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice muffled. “I was the idiot, not you. You got back here, Tom, and instead of being glad you did I yelled at you for wanting to save your friend.”

Tom sighed. “Yeah, you did. And it did hurt, but… I get it. If I saw you dart out like that, I would have been pissed if you didn’t tell me first. 

Will slowly uncovered his face and stared at him. Then he pulled Tom into a hug and held him tightly.

At first Tom was shocked by the fact that Will was hugging him, but then he quickly squeezed back, burying his face into Will’s shoulder. Tom felt a warm feeling come over him, a sense of safety spreading through him; it prompted him to say words that had been in the back of his mind since he had gone to save Sam “Will,” he whispered. “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it back. And I can’t, I can’t die before I see my family again.”

Will squeezed him before whispering fiercely, “I won’t let that happen, Tom.” He pulled away and swiped at his eyes, seemingly embarrassed. 

“Well,” Tom said, running his hand through his hair, “I’m glad that plan worked as- “ he stopped short and started muttering curses under his breath. “Joe, you cheeky bastard. Now I have to believe you.”

Will snorted, and glanced quizzically at Tom. “What’s he done now? Or what’ve _you_ done now?”

Tom groaned and shook his head. “I told myself that if my plan worked, then it was true that Joe did snog Lucie Sunders behind this old mill in our town. ‘Course I never believed him, why would anyone want to kiss his ugly mug, but the plan worked, so now I’m bound by word to believe him.” He pointed at Will, and with a somber expression Tom said, “He can never know. Never, you hear Scho? I may have to believe him but that doesn’t mean his smug arse doesn’t have to find out. This goes to the grave.”

Will arched an eyebrow. Then he burst out laughing. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?”

“I’m dead serious, mate. Not a word, you hear?”

“Sure, sure,” Will said as he waved a hand at Tom, still snickering. “Of course, anything to keep your precious secret safe.”

“I don’t think you understand the importance of this, Scho. I’ll never hear the end of it! If I have to tell this arrogant prick that for once in his life I was wrong and he was right, he’ll never, ever let me live it down. Every argument he’ll tap his chin mockingly and say, “But what about that time with Lucie Sunders, hmm? And _I’ll have to agree!_ ” Apparently this was amusing to Will, because he just huffed with laughter and started grabbing his gear.

Since they had sat down for supper the sun had set, and the artist had swiped dark violets and navy blues across the sunset, dotting tiny specks of light across the heavens. The stars and the glowing camp stoves were the only sources of light that Tom and Will could see, along with the barely illuminated outlines of men heading to their tents for the night. A night watch was settled around a small fire, warming their hands. 

That reminded Tom. “Will?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t happen to hear anything about the schedule for the night watch, did you?”

“Oh, we’re not on it. O’Brian let me know.”

Tom sighed in relief. “Maybe I’ll actually get some decent shut eye, eh?”

Will nodded. “Cheers to that.”

The two soldiers started walking back to return the bowls Tom had snagged from the mess tent. Picking their way through the subdued camp, Tom could see the rows of tents filled with sleeping soldiers, usually 2 to a tent, though in one he saw a game of poker being played with 5 blokes sitting cross-legged and squished inside, trying to hide their cards from prying eyes. 

Will and Tom placed their bowls on top of a precariously leaning stack beside one of the big vats, and turned to head back to the outskirts of camp. Tom felt a wind ruffle his hair, and he could feel the cool night air seeping through the rip in his jacket, sending shivers down his spine.

As they neared the tent Will had pitched, a sudden thought struck Tom. Where was his gear? His rations? His letters? Just as Tom was about to wonder who he would even ask at this hour, Will’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I think I still have some needle and thread left, but you should look in your supplies as well,” came Will’s muffled voice from inside the tent. 

Tom pulled back the tent flap and was surprised to see his stuff sitting atop of a bed roll next to Will’s, who was sorting through his gear by turning out pockets and the like. Tom sat down on the thin bed roll and pulled off his shoes, wiggling his socked toes in relief from the tightness of his combat boots. 

“Ah!” Will proudly held up a thin needle threaded with a thin string that looked older than Tom. 

“Thanks, Scho,” Tom said. He reached for the needle. “Now I can-“ He stopped mid sentence to cover a yawn with his hand. Rubbing at his eyes with one hand Tom shook his head to clear the sleepy haze that had settled in his mind. His hand was still stretched out for the needle and thread as he repeated, “Now I can start to stitch this rip up.”

Will stared at Tom, blank faced. The hand that held the needle and thread stayed right by his side.

“What? Not like I haven’t sewn before-” another yawn cut off Tom’s protests.

Will sighed, though his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Give me your jacket. I can patch it up for you.” Now Will stretched out _his_ hand, waiting patiently.

Tom had to think for a second for his mind to process what Will just said. “Oh. Sure, thanks mate.” He started to slowly shrug his arms out of his jacket, but stopped before his left arm was fully out of the sleeve. “Will,” he said. Every time Tom blinked it felt like his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. “Won’t I get cold?”

Will snorted. “That’s why you’ve got that nice cozy army blanket.”

That made sense. Tom hadn’t even noticed the thin, gray blanket folded at the edge of the bed roll. “Alright then.” He slowly pulled his bandaged arm out of his jacket and handed it to Will. Then he leaned back against the bed roll and folded his right arm behind his head. It felt so nice to stretch out and relax, even just for a bit. 

Will cleared his throat. “Er, Tom. Was it- did you just get cut, or was it a bullet wound?”

“This?” Tom lifted up his bandaged left arm and stared at it. “Oh! Nah, mate, just a scratch. O’Brian patched it up.” 

Will’s voice was filled with relief. “That’s good.”

Tom hummed in response. It was warm inside the tent, and he struggled to keep his eyes open, staring at the canopy of the dimly lit tent. Sleep tugged at him, and it was getting harder to fight it since he felt so comfortable.

“Not going to fall asleep there, are you?” Will’s voice was quietly amused.

“No…” Tom mumbled, “...definitely not.” Soon, though, his eyes slipped shut and he drifted off.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Will focused on sewing up the rip in Tom’s sleeve. A couple years in the Army taught him that torn uniforms did no one any good, and since Tom’s arm would hinder him, Will figured the least he could do was sew up his torn sleeve. 

Guilt had been eating at Will ever since he had walked away from Tom. He had been so worried that he didn’t even think of what Tom might have gone through, or if he could have been injured. Fear had spiked through him when Tom doubled over in pain, and he realized then how stupid he had been. It had hurt when Tom coldly ignored him, but he supposed that he deserved it.

When he was setting up their field tent he hadn’t even realized that he had grabbed Tom’s gear as well as his own until he had set it on top of the other bed roll. At that point he felt so drained and miserable that he grabbed his pack and hiked over to lean against the grassy hillside. Fresh air and quiet always did him good after a battle, because it was the only place where he could think- and nowadays he hasn’t gotten a chance to sit and think in quite some time. And when he was startled awake by a nudge (he must have dozed off), he had been surprised to see Tom sitting next to him with two bowls of steaming soup in his hands. 

And when Tom forgave him he didn’t even think, Will just reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, as though he could protect Tom like this for the rest of the war. It had nearly broken Will to hear Tom’s whisper that he had to see his family again before he died. No one should ever have to wish for that, so he had just held him tighter.

With a satisfied nod Will tied off the string and admired his handiwork. The stitching was even (or as even as he could make it) and it didn’t look as though it was going to fall out anytime soon. 

He set down the needle and thread and folded up the jacket, ready to hand it back over to Tom. But when he looked up, Tom was fast asleep. His right arm was tucked underneath his head, his left draped over his stomach. Will leaned forward to check the wrapping and was satisfied to see that there was no blood that had seeped through. 

Will gently slid the jacket underneath Tom’s head and moved his arm down to his side, then pulled the blanket up to Tom’s chest. When he sat back down on his own bed roll and started untying his boots, Will felt a surge of protectiveness as he watched Tom sleep. Tom deserved to go home with his brother, to be doted on lovingly by his mum, to have a family of his own like Will. But for now, it was enough that they could relax tonight.

Will laid back down on his bed roll and closed his eyes, content knowing that Tom was by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That chapter was so much longer than I expected it to be. And then I was rereading it over and over to make sure I wrote it right, so that took me a while as well. I just want to state, though, that I did try and do research on what they would have had accessible to them, and what the gear the would have had was like, but for some stuff I honestly could not find anything about it, so I just had to go off of what I thought would be right for that time. However, if you see something that needs historical corrections let me know! I'll be happy to go back and edit it.
> 
> Huge thanks to Ealasaid, Pavuvu, Ifis, and to everyone who commented. Your kind words mean so much!
> 
> I'm hoping to come up with some more ideas, but if you have a thought or a scene that you think would work with this, let me know! I'm all ears! Thank you for taking time to read this, hope it was worth the wait! :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you're seeing this, thanks for reading all the way through! I'm not sure if this is going to be a story or just a series of connected one-shots, so just stick with me here. Let me know what you think in the comments!


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